Spit Kink: Why I Crave It in Bed

Spitting is Okay!

Bear with me now, don’t go clutching pearls just yet over my confession for having a spit kink. I know what this sounds like and to be frank, 99.99% of the time I’d agree with you. Public spitting is vile, a sign of disrespect, and a health hazard. But there is one context, one glorious, messy, absolutely filthy context, where I crave it: sex. I love it when he spits on me. Crazy right? But it’s my secret, dirty little turn-on. It’s not something I talk about with close friends, no one knows this about me. For months, it was just a fantasy that played out in my head whenever he pinned me down, when he claimed me with that deep possessive thrust I love so much.

Fuck, there have been times, I deliberately provoked him hoping that he’d touch my spit kink when he couldn’t take anymore and he punished me for my bratty behavior. I’d imagine him pulling back, a slight snarl on his face, his eyes smoldering in ownership, and spit on me. I wanted that glistening wetness on my cheek, on my breasts, I wanted it everywhere I could get it and too be honest it was his fault. He put this idea in my head when we had a risky fuck behind the library several months ago – he spat on my pussy and the sound and the feeling stuck with me ever since. I wanted more. I needed him to spit on me again. I’m wet just thinking about it.

Sometimes I Just Need a Little More

One night, the urge became unbearable. We were going at it, hard and fast, my hips rising up against his in a frantic rhythm. He bit my lower lip, and I finally blurted it out, my voice thick with desperation.
“Spit on me, baby. Please. Spit on my face…spit on my tits…let me feel it on my favorite panties“. He immediately pulled back, rhythm lost, his smoldering eyes confused, but I saw it. I saw how his eyes lit up before he quickly masked it.

“What? Are you serious?” He asked hesitantly, like I couldn’t feel how much harder he had just become. I wrapped my legs around his waist, my pussy already clenched even tighter around him as he sank even deeper inside me. “Fuck yes, I’m serious! I have a spit kink. Please…I need it baby. I need it bad.” I whined as I impaled myself on him slowly, teasingly. My body was already shaking.

He throbbed inside of me before trying to pull out. “I… I can’t. That’s gross, babe. It’s not… romantic.” He groaned as he struggled against me, not even really trying to pull out anymore. Right then and there, I knew
that he’d give in, that the very idea of spitting on me turned him on just as much as it did me. “I don’t want romantic! I want you to treat me like a fucking piece of meat! You go on about how you own me…so show me. Claim me.” I was begging, tears welling up in frustration. He shook his head, kissed my forehead chastely, and tried to continue with his usual, gentle ministrations. My spit kink moment was lost. I finished him off quickly, feeling unsatisfied and frustrated.

Finally He Gave Into My Spit Kink

Then came the perfect storm. We’d been fighting all day over something stupid—a missed date, all because of a text he forgot to send. The air was thick with tension, not the good kind. I’m a mouthy girl, I push all of his buttons expertly. I don’t even remember what I said that finally set him off before I was tossed over his shoulder and he was marching towards our bedroom, the sharp sting of his hand on my ass the only thing to ground me. When he finally pinned me to the bed, there was an anger in his eyes I’d never seen. He was done being nice. Finally, he was ready to give into my spit kink.

He ripped my clothes off, and grabbed my chin forcing me to meet those heated eyes. I watched what he carefully hid during sex all this time rise forth and take control. The anger morphed into a dark, controlling hunger. He leaned back, his eyes locked on mine, and without a word, he spit on me, no warning, nothing but the thick saliva stuck right between my eyes, dribbling down my nose and cheeks. I gasped, my body acting on its own, arching right off the bed.

I couldn’t help the strangled needy sound I made. He spit on me again feeding my spit kink, a glittering string of saliva connecting his mouth to my left breast, before he lowered his head and rubbed it in with his tongue. He spat in my mouth, forcing my head back, and I swallowed it down, a small, blooming dark part of my soul singing with glee. I moaned, unable to even think about controlling myself. Maybe that’s why I am the perfect fantasy girl companion!

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